


Beyond the Sea

by GoDownWithThisShip



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, F/F, Featuring: 2 senior citizen women who are in love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 01:31:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7413187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoDownWithThisShip/pseuds/GoDownWithThisShip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers has always dreamed of going to sea, but no captain worth his salt is going to hire a skinny, chronically ill, asthmatic. When an unknown monster terrorizes is costal town, Bucky is injured and Steve is given the opportunity to realize his dream</p><p>1940s AU where everyone lives in a fishing village and everything hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this started off as an AU idea I didn't think I was going to flesh out, let alone write. It's literally the story nobody asked for lmao. I apologize in advance because the only research I did was watch a few grainy videos about old-timey fishing (one of them was sponsored by Chicken of the Sea?)
> 
> I sat down and wrote everything before posting because we all know what happens when you leave me to regularly update a fic.
> 
> So yeah, enjoy~

The water slides up the sandy shore and just as it comes within centimeters of Steve’s wriggling toes it shies back into the sea. It’s yet another lazy Sunday afternoon and the pair of boys are settled in the sand and content to watch the ocean do its age old dance with the shoreline. Off in the distance, Steve spots a dark form slowly gliding across the horizon. “Which ship do you think that is?” Steve asks, pointing toward the moving shape.

 

“What makes you so sure it’s a ship?” Bucky replies. Steve turns to see him laying on his back and watching the clouds pass overhead.

 

“The size,” Steve replies. “The way it’s moving. What else could it be?”

 

Something in his voice gets Bucky to sit up and rest back against his elbows. His grey eyes fix on the place where the sky meets the sea. “Hmm. I guess it could be the _Madman_.”

 

“The _Madman_ ’s a lot faster than that,” Steve points out. “I think it’s the _Queen_ _Mary_. She’s not very fast but she’s the sturdiest ship in the sea, I’d think.” He looks back to find Bucky watching him with an expression that is caught somewhere between pride and disbelief. The fresh, summer air cannot compare to the warmth in Bucky’s eyes. “What?”

 

Bucky jolts like he’s just remembered something important. “This heat’s killing me,” he says quickly. “Let’s go grab a soda pop or something.”

 

“Alright,” Steve says as Bucky gets to his feet and brushes the sand from his legs. Steve stands up a little too fast and all at once his head feels like it’s floating on his shoulders and a thousand little stars erupt in his field of vision. Bucky’s hand is at his arm.

 

“You okay?” Bucky sounds like he’s a million miles away.

 

“Fine,” Steve replies faintly.


	2. Part One

"The sea is everything. It covers seven tenths of the terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides. The sea is only the embodiment of a supernatural and wonderful existence. It is nothing but love and emotion; it is the Living Infinite." - **Jules Verne, _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_**

* * *

 

“You know, fishing is supposed to be one of the most dangerous jobs in this country.” Steve hopes he sounds more casual than he feels. He’s walking Bucky down to the pier with both hands balled up in his pockets. Steve wishes that the walk would be longer because there are so many things he’d like to say before Bucky ships off for the first time. The sun is muted by a couple of low hanging clouds and there seems to be more salt in the air than usual. The streets are empty for the most part aside from the occasional commercial van speeding toward or away from the docks. Their sides boast colorful logos telling the rest of he world they transport only the freshest fish.

 

“Is that why you’re dying to get into the business,” Bucky replies with a grin.

 

Steve looks up at him. Bucky’s always been taller than him but now the difference is much more apparent. Steve’s head only comes up to about Bucky’s shoulder. It comes in handy when the sun’s too hot and he needs a little makeshift shade or when the winter winds whip through the narrow streets in town and he needs a barrier to keep from blowing over. But, it is not helpful at all when he’s trying to be protective…or authoritative. “I mean it, Buck. I dunno what I’d do -” All of a sudden his words have too much weight and hold too much meaning so he quickly changes direction, “Come back in one piece, okay. Lord knows I can’t afford the rent on an artist’s salary.”

 

Bucky laughs and casually flings an arm around Steve’s shoulders. Steve tries not to lean into his side too much. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. Hate to break it to ya, pal, but I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

 

They get to the docks and say their final goodbyes. Steve promises to take it easy and avoid catching a cold or having an asthma attack and Bucky promises not to get thrown overboard or catch scurvy. “I’ll see you in a day or two. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky lied because Steve notices he’s gone. He notices because he’s not tripping over Bucky’s shoes when he comes home from work. He notices because there aren’t shirts or jackets slung over the backs of chairs. Bucky’s absence is so loud it’s almost deafening. It’s in the way he sets the table for one and in the way silence settles into the apartment in the spaces where Bucky used to be.

 

Bucky’s schedule is erratic. He basically works when the captain decides to head on out to sea. Steve doesn’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work, but apparently the captain wants to make as much money off the ocean as possible. Bucky seems to have a similar idea. When he’s home and not passed out in his cot, he showers Steve in an assortment of promises. “No more skipping the meat when we make stew”, “No more patching up pants and socks”, “No more hiding under a hundred quilts during the winter because the heat’s broke”. Steve particularly dislikes the last one because, in his opinion, there is nothing better than settling into bed in the middle of January with a couple of quilts and his best friend. He keeps that to himself.

 

Steve has to come up with new routes to get around town because he doesn’t like passing through the market district anymore. He used to love to listen to shop keepers calling out their specials and poking through their various merchandise. But now he knows a trip through the market district means passing the shops with the fish set up out front in baths of ice. It serves as a reminder he doesn’t need.

 

He keeps picking up odd jobs. Sometimes that means doodling cartoons for the paper. Other times it means creating advertisements for the various shops around town. In one instance, he is approached by a friend of a previous client asking if he could design her wedding invitations. In another situation he finds himself in a cramped bathroom in the back of someone’s house touching up the paint and nearly passing out from the fumes. He leaves with a polite nod and a smile because his lungs feel like they’ve shriveled up into nothing and the air is passing through them with an audible wheeze.

 

* * *

 

Aside from Steve’s own melancholy their situation is perfect. There’s enough money coming in now for Steve to afford medications for his asthma and for all of Bucky’s promises to become real. One evening, he surprises Steve with a brand new art set. It’s set up in a leather case and Steve undoes the latches and opens it up and suddenly his chest feels tight and his lungs won’t expand right. He knows it isn’t another asthma attack because everything feels warm. Everything feels right. “I wasn’t sure what you needed,” Bucky offers, he’s watching Steve closely. “So, I asked the lady and she suggested I pick this up.” There are pencils in every color…in almost every shade of every color. There’s a couple of charcoals and sharpeners and…

 

“It’s perfect,” Steve replies sincerely, looking up from the box. “Thank you.”

 

Bucky relaxes and smiles widely back at him. “It’s nothing.”

 

* * *

 

Steve carries his case of new supplies in his arms as he makes his way to the newspaper’s main office the next day. He needs to smooth over some details with his editor before his work goes to print. As he arrives at the office, he finds the place drowning in chaos. The phones are ringing and everyone’s forgotten how to use their quiet, indoor voices. There are only a handful of people who work for the paper, but the room feels crowded and cramped. He skirts around the main crowd to the back room in the office. The one designated for the bits of the paper that aren’t really for groundbreaking news. There are two desks crammed into the small space. One belongs to the advice columnist. It’s currently empty. His editor sits behind the other desk.

 

“What’s going on out there?” he asks his editor as he takes the seat opposite her. She looks up from the document she’s marking up.

 

“You know I don’t handle the big stuff, kid,” she says before glancing toward the door and then back toward him. “But, from what I’m hearing it’s not good.”

 

“What happened?” Steve presses. He can feel his heart begin to race.

 

“One of the fishing boats has gone missing.”

 

“Which one?”

 

* * *

 

Steve pushes the front door open and immediately trips. Unable to find his footing and grab ahold of something to steady himself, he topples to the floor. As he gets back to his feet he realizes the culprit is a pair of scuffed up shoes. “Watch it! Those are probably my best pair.” He looks up to see Bucky’s concerned face in the doorway and he launches himself at him. “Woah! What’s wrong?”

 

Bucky smells like fish and sweat and in any other situation Steve would tell him that he reeks and that he needs a bath ASAP. But, instead Steve tightly wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist. His cotton shirt is rough against Steve’s face, but Steve hardly cares.

 

“I wasn’t even gone for that long this time,” Bucky mumbles, but to Steve’s surprise, he slides his arms around him. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Heard one of the ships went missing-“ Steve’s voice is muffled by Bucky’s chest. “-Worried-“

 

“Hold on.” Bucky pulls away, holding Steve at arm’s length with both hands on his shoulders. “Missing?”

 

Steve nods, still practically paralyzed with relief. “Heard about it from my editor down at the newspaper office. Not a whole lot of details other than that.”

 

Bucky frowns, a line appears between his brows. “I overheard something about a missing boat when we got in. Hadn’t checked in for days, not answering the radio calls. Nobody’s had a visual on them either.”

 

“How does that happen?” Steve asks. “They must’ve gotten swept out or stuck in a current. There haven’t been any storms lately-“

 

“They’ll turn up,” Bucky says and he sounds so calm and assured that Steve believes him.

 

* * *

 

The breeze is a little chilly and Steve pulls the front of his jacket closed to guard against it. The sand weighs them down as they trudge down the shoreline. It’s one of the few days that he has to spend with Bucky and he’s grateful for it. They had woken up early that morning to have a quick breakfast at the café on the corner- something they could never have dreamed of doing before Bucky took the fishing job- and headed down to the shore. “Do you think there’s gonna be a time when there won’t be any more fish left out there?” Steve asks, watching the grey waters churn.

 

“There’s a lot of fish out there. Don’t think we could scoop them _all_ up,” Bucky replies, kicking a piece of debris out of the way. “Ocean’s a lot smarter than us. She can take care of herself.”

 

Steve carefully steps around a decent sized piece of metal jutting out of the sand. “What’s with all this garbage?” he mutters. They keep walking and he can feel the sand slowly filling up his shoes and socks and grating against his feet. He wants to suggest they turn around, but seeing the light house is always his favorite part of their trips to the beach and they’re nearly there. The only thing standing in their way is the pier. They make their way underneath, winding around the thick support beams. The wood creaks above them and they can faintly hear what sounds like footsteps. When they come out the other side, both of them freeze.

 

“Christ. What the hell is that?” Bucky is the first to speak. Before them, half buried in sand, is a heap of mangled metal about as tall as a building and wider than a school bus. It looks like, in a previous life, it could have been a boat. There are…things scattered about. Rubbish. Chests sealed shut. A large rope fishing net. Weights. A single rubber boot. No sign of any bodies. Steve’s stomach twists into an uncomfortable knot, because _that has to be the missing ship._

 

“Did they hit the rocks?” Steve asks unsurely.

 

Bucky shakes his head. “C’mon Steve. You’re an expert at this stuff. Does that look like they hit some rocks?”

 

“It looks like-“ Steve doesn’t know how to describe it. He has never seen anything like it before. “-like something tore it apart.”

 

Silently, they make their way closer to the wreckage. Steve isn’t even sure he wants to see what the ugly steel tomb is hiding. The closer they get, the more unsettling it becomes. It looms above them, casting a large shadow over the sand around it. They get close enough to make out the name painted on the side. _The Madman_. “What coulda done this to the fastest ship we’ve got?” Bucky asks quietly. Being this close, Steve can make out long, jagged, vertical scratches in the remainder of the ship. Parts of it look like someone had taken a can opener to the hull. Some of the hull is warped and indented as if it was crushed by a giant fist.

 

“Hey!” A loud voice from behind them causes both of them to jump. Steve turns around to find a pink faced police officer jogging toward them. His partner lags a few feet behind, looking slack-jawed at the sight in front of him. “Back away from there! You don’t have any business here!”

 

“Alright! We don’t want trouble,” Bucky says just as Steve asks “What happened here?”

 

It takes a moment for the police officer to register what each of them has said. He decides to round on Steve. “That is none of your business now, is it?” he snaps.

 

Steve opens his mouth to reply when Bucky pulls him by the arm. “We were just leaving,” he explains to the police officer. For a moment, Steve doesn’t budge, but he looks up and sees the panic in Bucky’s eyes and he begrudgingly allows himself to be pulled away from the scene.

 

It starts to drizzle as they make their way back home.

 

* * *

 

 _The Madman_ is only the first ship to disappear. In the month that follows, three more ships vanish from the sea. The wreckage of only one of the missing ships appears on shore. As if that isn’t enough bad fortune, fish begin to become harder to come by. Nobody is saying it out loud. Few are even acknowledging it as a possibility. But, Steve notices Bucky is gone even more than before and when he returns it is with even less money. One day, he works up the nerve to pass through the market and notices that fish of all sorts are now much more expensive than he had remembered.

 

They don’t talk about it. Steve doesn’t bring it up even though it’s eating him up inside. Bucky doesn’t talk a lot about his work to begin with and it seems he isn’t about to start now.

 

The radiator busts one evening, which incites a string of curses from Bucky’s mouth. He has been sitting cross-legged in front of it and tinkering with the knobs and piping for a half hour. Steve drags a chair over from the dining table to the refrigerator and climbs up onto it. He blindly feels around the top of the fridge before his fingers brush up against the rusted metal coffee can. He pulls it down and pops the lid off to count the bills inside. “We got enough to call a repair guy?” He looks up to find that Bucky is watching him from the doorway.

 

Steve shakes his head and Bucky mutters a bitter _God damnit_. Steve climbs down from the chair and replaces it back at the table while Bucky sulks off to plop down on the couch. Steve ducks into their bedroom and gathers up a quilt from his bed and carries it to the living room. He settles in wordlessly next to Bucky and drapes the quilt over the two of them. “We shouldn’t have to.” Bucky’s voice is seeped in disappointment.

 

“It’s alright,” Steve assures him. “I don’t mind.”

 

“But, I made you a promise.” Steve pretends not to hear Bucky’s quiet words and leans over to fumble with the radio on the end table. Soon their chilled living room is filled with gentle music.

 

* * *

 

He meets the lighthouse keeper, Nicholas in town one dreary morning. Steve is up on a ladder, trying not to topple over while he quickly touches up a shop’s sign. His shirt and pants are both spotted with blue paint and he privately hopes it comes out in the wash. “That’s fine work.” Steve doesn’t take his eyes away from the sign to see who’s speaking.

 

“Thank you,” he replies politely.

 

“That all you do? Signs?”

 

Steve tears his eyes away from what he’s doing and looks down to find a man wearing a dark coat watching him with one eye. The other is hidden behind a coal-colored patch. “No, sir,” he answers. “I guess I’d call myself an artist. Mostly just do freelance stuff.”

 

“Ever done a portrait?”

 

And that’s how he ends up in the lighthouse two days later. Nicholas is leaning against the railing overlooking the ocean and Steve is trying his best to capture his essence. The outline is almost half done. “So, how’d you come to be in charge of the lighthouse?” Steve asks casually as he works at smoothing out his lines.

 

“I started off as a sailor,” Nicholas replies without breaking the pose. “But, all good things come to an end. So they say.”

 

“What made you give up on that life?” He mostly asks because idle chatter helps to pass the time and it makes the work a little less awkward.

 

“An accident. Wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

 

Steve’s interest is piqued and he pauses his drawing. “What kind of accident?”

 

“The unbelievable kind.”

 

Steve takes that as his cue to quit the line of questioning and he decides to try a different approach to conversation. “So, why do you want a self portrait, anyway?”

 

“You sure ask a lot of questions.”

 

The rest of the session proceeds in strained silence.

 

* * *

 

Steve spends a lot of time at the lighthouse in the following days and he doesn’t mind. He likes how cozy the inside feels. He likes the noise of his feet against the metal stairs as he climbs the winding steps up to the top. He likes the fresh, vaguely salty breeze that carries the distant call of gulls to the top of the light house. Nicholas warms up to him in their time together. He ends up talking about his various fishing conquests. He mentions how he caught a Tuna the size of a toddler. He talks about how liberating it is to wake up in the morning, climb out on deck, and see the vast, blue waters surrounding you.

 

On a few occasions, Steve ends up staying late enough for the sun to fall below the horizon and for stars to light up the night’s sky. On these nights, he likes to look out at the water below and count the lights coming from the ships floating out on the water. The ocean becomes a mirror of the sky above.

 

On the last evening, Nicholas is pleased with Steve’s work and Steve mentions how he’s going to miss the lighthouse. “It’s not going anywhere, son,” Nicholas says to him. “Come back soon and maybe I’ll tell you my unbelievable story.”

 

Steve returns home with a pocket full of cash and he considers splurging and buying a bottle of something fancy for when Bucky got home. But, when he walks through the door, he finds a pair of scuffed shoes on the floor, and he immediately forgets any other thoughts in his brain. “Honey, I’m home!” he says in a jovial tone. There’s no response.

 

He pokes his head into the kitchen to find it empty. The living room is also empty with Bucky’s spot on the couch clearly vacant. The bathroom door is open so that leaves only one other possibility. He pokes his head into their bedroom to find Bucky passed out in his cot. He’s asleep on top of the blankets. His shirt is untucked and his hair is ruffled. He’d almost look peaceful if it weren’t for the dark circles blooming under his eyes. _When’s the last time he’s got a good night sleep?_ Steve wonders.

 

Steve turns to leave when his foot comes down on a squeaky floorboard and Bucky’s rough, sleepy voice mumbles behind him. “Steve?”

 

He turns back around to smile at him in the semi-darkness. “Rise and shine,” he says but his words don’t come out as light as he hopes they would.

 

“I was gonna cook something,” Bucky attempts to sit up and winces before falling back down into his pillows. “Decided to pass out instead.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve says quickly as he makes his way over to Bucky’s side. “You’ve clearly had a rough day. You look like hell.”

 

Bucky laughs hollowly. “You have no idea.” And for a moment it really hurts because Steve has no idea. He has no idea what Bucky’s being put through. He has no idea about the things Bucky’s doing- the sacrifices that he’s making- to make sure he’s taken care of.

 

“I finished a job today,” Steve changes the subject. “With the little extra cash we can put some meat in tomorrow night’s stew.”

 

When Bucky turns his head to lock eyes with Steve, his expression is broken. “Thanks.” Nothing can hide the guilt behind the word.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Bucky gets out of bed and on the surface it looks like he’s back to normal. But, Steve notices the way he moves a little more stiffly and how he has to slowly ease into chairs and that he needs to use his arms to help him stand back up. Steve offers to run to the market alone but Bucky insists on coming with him. The two set off into the brisk, late morning air.

 

They’re quiet at first as they pass the neighboring houses. Everyone’s windows are still shuttered up, giving the buildings an appearance of being asleep. “Tell me more about the job you worked,” Bucky finally says, watching his feet.

 

“It was…strange, but also exciting. The guy that runs the lighthouse, his name’s Nicholas, he paid me to paint a portrait.”

 

Bucky tears his gaze from the ground to look at Steve. “Portrait of what?”

 

“Of him. Like the kinda thing you’d see in a rich guy’s mansion. Hanging above the mantel. You know what I mean.”

 

Bucky laughs and shakes his head a bit. “Why’d he want something like that?”

 

Steve shrugs. “I asked, but he wasn’t too keen on sharing. He said I’m welcome to visit whenever I’d like.”

 

“Sounds like you’ve wooed another one,” Bucky chuckles.

  
Steve doesn’t quite understand. “Another one?”

 

A car rumbles by and their conversation is lost to the noise of its sputtering engine. Steve decides that Bucky’s probably more than a little sleep-deprived and doesn’t know what he’s talking about. When the noise diminishes as the car drives off Steve looks up at Bucky questioningly. “How’s the fishing?”

 

Bucky shrugs. “Alright.” Steve waits for him to delve into a retelling of his experiences at sea, but Bucky remains quiet.

 

“You looked pretty beat up last night,” he pries.

 

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Bucky says quickly. “We’re sorta short on men. With the disappearances and all. Quite a few of the guys quit. Too scared to go out there, I guess. I just had to pick up the slack.”

 

The rest of their trip is quiet. They drop by the grocer to pick up vegetables. The only words exchanged between them are “How’s this one look?” and “That one looks a little bigger” or “That one’s more ripe”. By the end of the trip, they have a paper bag that’s heavy with carrots, potatoes, and cabbage. Their next stop is the butcher where they purchase a small cut of beef and leave with it neatly wrapped up in brown paper.

 

At the edge of the market, near the seasonal souvenir shop that’s closed for the off-season months, they’re stopped by a voice from behind them. “James? Steven?” Steve turns around to find a familiar lanky, aging woman making her way up the street toward them. He recognizes her as Ms. Adams, their landlady and his heart sinks a bit in his chest.

 

Bucky doesn’t miss a beat and replies in a cheerful voice that seems out of place in this drab morning, “Hello, Miss Adams!”

 

She stops just in front of them, a paper bag in each arm and huffs. “I hadn’t had a chance to come upstairs and see you, but the month’s almost up and I haven’t seen rent from you two.”

 

“We’re real sorry about that, Miss Adams,” Bucky replies politely. “We can explain.”

 

“You can start by carrying this for me.” She holds out one of the paper bags and Bucky accepts it, still holding onto their groceries in his other arm. Steve offers to carry something, but Bucky shakes his head and insists he’s got it. The three of them begin to make their way up the street. Ms. Adams walks nearest to the curb with Bucky in between her and Steve. “So let’s hear it.”

 

“Well, you’ve probably heard about the current situation with the fishing, ma’am. Truth is, it’s getting pretty sparse out there and I haven’t been bringing home as much money as usual,” Bucky explains.

 

“I’ve had some luck finding work around town,” Steve jumps in. “They don’t pay real well, but I’m trying.”

 

“As long as rent’s in my mailbox by the end of the month,” Ms. Adams starts and sighs before finishing. “I really don’t care. You’re both nice boys.”

 

Bucky glances sideways at Steve who noiselessly mouths _She means me._ Bucky lets out a snort of laughter that causes Ms. Adams to snap. “What’s so funny?”

 

“Nothing!” Bucky says quickly, adjusting the bags in his arms and bumping Steve’s arm with his elbow.

 

She scans his face for a moment before continuing. “Y’know, when you first moved in there were always different gals hanging around the place. Now, not so much. You both settled down, then?”

 

Steve gets a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. Like he’s swallowed acid and now it’s slowly burning through him. He hadn’t really given much thought to ‘settling down’. He can’t see himself living any other life outside the small apartment that always seems to be a little too hot in the summer and a little too cold in the winter. He can’t imagine waking up and not rolling over to see his _best friend_ on the other side of the room either passed out with his mouth slightly open or sitting at the edge of his bed and getting dressed. The thought of Bucky living a life that private with someone else just makes the feeling worse. He feels guilty because he should be happy in this hypothetical scenario. He should be looking forward to being the best man in the wedding and all of that.

 

“Not really. Still trying to find stable work. Don’t wanna marry someone if I can’t even put food on the table for myself.” Bucky’s voice pulls him from his negative thoughts but does little for the lingering feeling in his belly.

 

“Good thinking,” Ms. Adams replied. There’s something skeptical in her voice. “Very sensible. You know, I never married.”

 

“Really?” Bucky sounds legitimately interested.

 

“Everyone always told me that I’d find the right man, but there hasn’t been a man alive that’s been right for me.”

 

They don’t have time to reflect on her words because they finally reach their building. Ms. Adams lives in the basement apartment and she accepts her paper bag from Bucky before descending to her front door. “Do you need help putting away your groceries?” Bucky asks and she looks at him as though he’s just said something incredibly offensive.

 

“I’m nearly seventy. I’m not _dead_.”

 

They say their goodbyes and she reminds them one last time to pay their rent on time. Once she closes the door, they ascend the front steps to the door of the building. Bucky drops the fake-friendly act and now he just looks exhausted. They push through the front door, past the staircase, and make their way to their apartment on the first floor.

 

“I’ll put the groceries away,” Steve says quietly as Bucky fumbles with the keys.

 

“Sure.”

 

* * *

 

Steve finds himself sitting alone on the couch a few days later. The day trickled by slowly as he sat by the radio, listening to the different programs. At one point, he gathers up his art stuff and heads out the door. He makes his way down to the shoreline, following the winding roads, and clutching his supplies to his chest. When he gets to the beach he finds it empty. He settles into the sand and begins the sketch the ocean before him.

 

Time passes a little more quickly while he works and by the time he’s finished, the sun is sitting low on the horizon. He packs up his things and considers going home before he catches sight of the lighthouse, rising up from the rocks. He begins to trudge over to it, drawn to the light.

 

* * *

 

“I was wondering when you’d be back,” Nicholas says when he answers the door. “Come on in, I was just making tea.”

 

“Thanks.” Steve follows Nicholas inside and they ascend the metal stairs together.

 

“That your art stuff?” Nicholas asks when they get to the first landing. He takes a right through the doorway into the small room beyond. Steve had never been to Nicholas’s actual living quarters and he finds it’s just as cozy as the rest of the lighthouse. The portrait he had painted for Nicholas has been framed. The frame itself is exquisite featuring detailed patterns whittled into dark wood. It sits behind a lumpy dark-green couch.

 

“Yeah,” Steve replies, setting his things down on a small wooden coffee table in the middle of the room. “I didn’t have anything to work on today so I headed down to the beach to get a little practice in.” Nicholas disappears into the other room and Steve hears the sounds of dishes clinking and the whistle of a kettle. “So…how’s the lighthouse doing?” Steve asks and immediately feels silly for phrasing the question like that.

 

“Still standing,” Nicholas replies from the other room. The kitchen- Steve’s deduced. “Normally, there’s at least a couple of near-misses. Ships getting too close to the rocks. But so far, everyone’s just hyper-vigilant. Haven’t had a near miss in weeks. Makes my job a whole lot easier.”

 

Nicholas returns to the living room with two mugs of cocoa. He hands one to Steve who accepts it gratefully. “I was just about to head on up and watch the ships.” It’s an invitation that Steve accepts and the two climb up to the top of the lighthouse.

 

Nicholas has a simple wooden chair set up and he offers it to Steve. “Nicholas-“

 

“Jeez, kid. We’re past formalities. It’s Nick.”

 

“Sorry, Nick. It’s just- it’s your home you should have the chair.”

 

“This isn’t going to turn into an argument,” Nick says definitively. “One strong gust and you’re gonna get blown over the side rails. It’s best if you sit down.”

 

Steve takes the seat and carefully sips from the steaming mug in his hands. It’s getting dark now and some of the ships have already lit up. There are fewer on the waters than before. The sea now looks too dark to resemble the night sky. “You mentioned a friend at one point, Buddy?”

 

“Bucky,” Steve corrects him.

 

“How’s he doing? Is he okay?” On the surface it’s a casual question but within the context of everything that has been happening it carries weight.

 

“He’s okay,” Steve replies. “They’re over working him, in my opinion.”

 

“Glad to hear he’s alright.” Nick sounds like his mind is drifting out to sea and they’re quiet for a while after that. Steve is chilled right to the bone despite wearing one of his heavier jackets. The air feels heavy and the night is dead quiet aside from the faint sounds of waves meeting shore.

 

Steve finishes half of his tea before it gets cold. He can’t help but watch the little lights sitting out on the water and wondering which one belonged to Bucky. One of the lights flickers and Steve thinks it’s his imagination. He blinks and rubs his eyes with his free hand. When he looks back, the ocean looks just as peaceful as it did before.

 

Then a light vanishes. He’d chalk it up to his eyes playing tricks until he sees another go out. Then another. “Nick-“ he starts.

 

“You saw that too?”

 

Steve stands and Nick disappears down the stairs. Another light disappears and Steve sets his mug down and rushes to the railing. He grips the metal so hard his knuckles turn white. Another is gone. Then another. There’s the loud, unmistakable noise of the lighthouse’s foghorn and Steve assumes Nick must’ve turned it on as a warning to the sailors. Nick returns, somewhat out of breath with a spyglass clutched in his right hand. He extends it and peers through the eye piece, scanning the dark waters in front of them.

 

“What do you see?” Steve can’t conceal the panic in his voice.

 

“Nothing-“ Nick sounds almost as worried as he is. “It’s too dark.”

 

He lowers the spyglass. “An optimist would say they’re having engine troubles.”

 

The sentence is barely out of his mouth when the sound of ringing bells and blowing horns drifts across the water to them. Whatever was happening out there, everyone seems to be panicking.

 

Steve reaches for the apparatus and Nick hands it to him. He brings it to his eye and tries to focus on one of the ships. He finds one. It’s smaller than the average fishing vessel. He can’t make out the name on the side of it. Suddenly, something juts out of the sea, sending a spray of water in every direction. At first, Steve thinks it’s a whale or a very large dolphin breeching. But, there haven’t been any in the waters lately. It’s been too cold. The mystery animal is also much too flexible, it seems to wrap around the ship. Then all at once, everything is dark.

 

Steve lowers the spyglass to find the entire ocean is pitch black.


	3. Part Two

“If there were no thunder, men would have little fear of lightning.” - **Jules Verne, _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_**

* * *

 

It takes two days for Bucky to wash up on shore. He’s immediately transported to the hospital in the back of some good-natured person’s car because every one knows it takes at least an hour and a half to get an ambulance. Bucky doesn’t remember this bit too well. In fact, he can’t really remember what happened and what caused him to wake up in the hospital.

 

The first thing he’s really aware of is the unreasonably firm mattress under him and the rough cotton sheets tucked around him. He slowly opens his eyes and ends up blinded by the light that seems to fill up every corner of the room. For a moment he wonders if this is heaven. But, the logical part of his brain tells him that heaven would be a lot more comfortable- for starters. He decides to give opening his eyes another shot. Slowly, he takes in the world around him, and to his relief Steve’s right there. He’s looking down and his hands are folded neatly in his lap. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some water around here.” His voice is dry and raspy, but he thinks he doesn’t sound as weak as he’s feeling.

 

Steve jolts and looks up at him with red-rimmed, cobalt eyes. _He’s been crying_. He quickly wipes his nose with the back of his hand and smiles weakly. “You’ve been asleep for a while. How’re you feeling?” he asks as he gets to his feet. There’s a jug full of water and a couple of cups stacked inside each other on the table next to Bucky’s bed. He watches as Steve takes one of the cups and fills it up about halfway.

 

“I thought you’d be happy I’m finally catching up on my rest.” Bucky slips his right arm from under the covers and uses it to prop himself up. With his back resting against the pillows and metal bedframe, he reaches for the cup with his other hand – but-

 

“Buck-“ Steve’s voice can’t break through the haze that’s suddenly smothering Bucky’s brain. His arm’s gone. Severed just below the shoulder. What’s left of it is wrapped up in a bunch of white bandages.

 

“What the fuck.” Bucky’s not even aware of saying anything. His stomach churns and for a minute he thinks he might puke.

 

Suddenly, there’s something in his free hand and he looks down to find Steve fitting the cup of water into his grasp. Steve’s saying something but he can’t quite figure out what. He closes his eyes and takes a few shaky breaths focusing on the itchy sheets and lumpy mattress. He feels the cool surface of the glass against his fingers and palm. Slowly, he opens his eyes and Steve’s right there looking at him earnestly. “Please, drink some.”

 

He gives him hell sometimes, but Bucky never has the heart to say no to Steve. So he carefully brings the cup to his lips and drinks.

 

* * *

 

The hospital stay is hell and not just because he can’t get comfortable in his bed. And, not because when the pain meds wear off he’s left with a shooting pain in his left arm. And, not even because the food is just glorified slop. He hates it because he’s alone with his thoughts. At first, he tries to riddle out what happened to him on that ship. That doesn’t end well.

 

Steve can’t visit very often because it’s hard to find someone who’s able to drive him out to the hospital. When he does visit, he makes it a point to bring the day’s paper with him and on rare occasions he shows up with a book under his arm. Bucky feels guilty because he knows Steve has to be spending their food money on these books. But, at the same time he can’t stand to lie back in bed and look at the ceiling for hours at a time.

 

He doesn’t read while Steve visits. Sometimes Steve brings a couple of pencils and his sketchbook along. On this afternoon, pale sunlight filters in through the windows making Steve glow. The only sounds are his pencil scratching against paper and Bucky’s roommate wheezing from the other side of their partition screen. “Where’s your art set?” Bucky inquires quietly.

 

Steve looks up from what he’s drawing. “I accidentally left it. At the lighthouse. I’ve been meaning to drop by and pick it up.” Bucky nods, but doesn’t say anything more.

 

A few minutes pass and Steve starts talking quietly to him. “Everything’s been pretty quiet so far,” he begins. “But, I have a sneaking suspicion that Miss Adams has herself a lady.” He looks up to presumably gage Bucky’s reaction. Bucky just nods, a signal for him to continue, and he does. “It’s the woman whose son runs the cannery outside town. She lives down the street from us actually. I’ve seen them taking walks together and stuff.”

 

It occurs to Bucky a few moments after Steve’s finished speaking that he needs to acknowledge that in some way. He nods again and gives Steve a little smile. The smile he gets in return makes his chest ache. Steve keeps talking to him while he draws. He mentions little things like what he had for dinner last night and how crowded the markets were this morning. He talks about a recent job where he drew up some post card ideas for the lady who runs the souvenir shop. He tells Bucky that it’s supposed to rain tomorrow and that it’s going to start getting even colder. Bucky appreciates the little distraction and the sound of Steve’s voice, even if he can’t quite find the words to express it.

 

* * *

 

When they finally deem him well enough to leave, Bucky is itching to get out. Steve sets up a ride with one of his past clients who has to come up to the hospital for some business or another anyway. They end up waiting for the client for about an hour after Bucky is discharged. The two of them sit on a bench outside the main doors and Steve fills up the space between them with low-volume small talk. Bucky offers quiet, one-word replies. After about an hour, their ride wanders out and it’s time to go.

 

The car ride is long and silent. It starts to rain and Bucky watches the droplets slide along the car windows. The guy’s nice enough to swing by their apartment and they climb out of the car. Steve thanks him profusely while Bucky makes his way up the front steps. Steve’s close behind and he reaches around him to unlock the door. They step into the entry hall, slightly damp from the rain. With each step toward their door, Bucky feels more and more relieved.

 

The rest is muscle memory. Steve unlocks the door and steps inside and Bucky follows. He toes out of his shoes that are looking even worse than before. He shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over the back of one of the dining room chairs. The room is chilly. Chillier than he remembers. It takes him a moment to remember the radiator’s busted. Steve has been forced to deal with this for- God- how long now?

 

“Do you want to lie down? I can throw together something to eat if you’d like.” Steve is watching him like he’s scared he’s going to fall over.

 

“I’ve been doing enough laying around,” Bucky says, hoping he sounds reassuring. “Let me help.”

 

Steve hesitates for a moment and Bucky thinks he’s going to be insistent about the rest thing. To his surprise Steve agrees. “Okay. I’ll get a few cans of vegetables open if you could rinse them that would help me out some.”

 

It’s a simple task. Simple and almost non-essential. Bucky nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

What Bucky isn’t expecting is how he’d feel watching Steve fumble with the can opener. His first instinct is to step in and help. Then he remembers there’s not much he can do to help now. He hates the sinking feeling he gets when he thinks about that. Steve finally gets the tops off the cans and sets them down on the counter between them. Bucky sets the strainer down in the sink and dumps the cans inside. He’s embarrassed by how long it takes him to perform the task. Steve notices and assures Bucky that there’s no rush. The sinking feeling gets worse.

 

* * *

 

He lays awake that night and listens to the house creak. He can’t remember it making so much noise before. But each little groan of the wood settling into place reminds him of the way the hull of a ship settles. He rolls over and drags the blankets over his head, hoping to disappear into the safe place under the covers. For some reason, every position he tries is uncomfortable and he ends up fidgeting for a few minutes.

 

“Hey, Buck.” Steve’s whisper carries across the room. “You awake?”

 

Bucky huffs quietly and pulls the covers down from his face. “Yeah,” he replies.

 

“Are you warm enough? Do you need a couple more blankets?” The question itself is innocent, but every time he answers ‘yes’ they end up sharing a bed. For warmth. Truth is, whenever they do end up sleeping next to each other, Bucky wakes up uncomfortably hot. And with the urge to roll over and wrap Steve up in his arms. Sometimes he thinks of places to plant little kisses. It’s in those moments that he is his strongest as he gets out of bed instead of acting on impulses to _canoodle_ his best friend.

 

“’m fine,” Bucky replies and rolls over with his back to Steve. Because he knows that he’s not the same man that he used to be and he’s not so sure he’s as strong as he had been before.

 

He’s about to doze off when Steve starts his tossing and turning. The noise of his sheets rustling and his bed creaking wouldn’t have bothered Bucky much before. But now, when it is so difficult to get to sleep, he finds himself irritated. After some time, he rolls over onto his back, sits up, and gathers one of the thicker blankets from his bed in his arm and carries it over to Steve.

 

His eyes are somewhat adjusted to the dark, but he can’t make out too many details. The moon must be a sliver in the sky because the windows are completely dark. He lets the blanket fall from his arm and tries his best to drape it over Steve’s body. “You didn’t have to do that,” Steve says quietly.

 

“You need ‘em more than me,” Bucky replies. His body is sort of acting on its own accord while his brain tries to pick out the details of Steve’s face from the darkness. He can sort of make it out- Steve looking up at him with wide eyes. He considers he must be a scary sight to see, especially in the dark. It takes him a few moments to realize the blanket’s perfectly spread out and he’s just smoothing it unnecessarily. “Good night,” he mumbles as he straightens up.

 

“Good night,” Steve replies and there’s something in his voice that pulls at Bucky’s heart. He makes his way back to his bed and buries himself under the covers to wait for sleep.

 

* * *

 

Bucky doesn’t really have the energy to leave the house in the next few days. He chalks it up to him needing some more time to recover. Steve leaves for hours at a time to do his odd-jobs and while he’s gone Bucky tries to master life one-handed. It makes him feel like a child because he has to practice doing things like buttoning up his shirt and tying his shoes. On his last day in the hospital, the nurse had given him a bunch of information about a prosthetic and Bucky had politely declined. Mostly because he knows he doesn’t have the money for it. But, also because part of him feels like he doesn’t need it.

 

Besides, some days it still feels like his arm’s still there. It’s a weird feeling, like he’s leaned on it for too long and it’s gone to sleep. He swears there’s little pinpricks running up and down from the tips of his fingers to his shoulder. But, of course, he’s not delusional. He knows there’s nothing there. No nerve endings to feel. It’s like a part of him is a ghost now.

 

The feeling’s particularly overwhelming one afternoon and he decides he needs to get out and get some air. He’s not ready to walk around town. He knows there will be stares and whispers and that’s something he doesn’t want to deal with at the moment. He settles for sitting out on the front stairs and watching the occasional car rumble past on the road in front of the building. He gets lost in thought, mostly wondering how the hell they’re going to make rent this month, when- speak of the devil, Ms. Adams shows up.

 

She’s wearing an outfit that Bucky could only describe as her Sunday best with a thick wool coat. There’s a woman on her arm, just as old as she is, and dressed just as well. “Well, hello there!” Ms. Adams says cheerfully. “Glad to see you up and about. You gave us all a scare.”

 

Bucky laughs hollowly. “Gotta keep things interesting,” he replies.

 

She turns to her friend and pats the hand on her arm. “Why don’t you go on inside and start the tea, then. I need to speak to Mr. Barnes here for just a minute.”

 

Her friend nods and smiles to Bucky before heading on past the stairs to the basement apartment. He vaguely realizes that she must have a key. But, that’s not the most pressing issue he has to discuss. “I’m sorry about rent this month, Ms. Adams-“

 

He’s about to explain himself when he’s cut off. “Steve’s told me all about what happened. I’m not heartless you know. Just get me the money whenever you can.” Bucky feels about a ton lighter. “He was very worried about you, you know.”

 

Bucky laughs and this time it’s a bit more genuine. “Yeah, we look after each other.”

 

“You know,” Ms. Adams begins thoughtfully, “You two really inspired me.”

 

Bucky frowns, not really comprehending how two guys who barely had their own lives together could inspire a woman like Ms. Adams. “I’m sorry but, I don’t really understand-“

 

Ms. Adams looks at him with an expression he’d never seen on her face before. At least when she was speaking to him and Steve. Fondness. “Why, your relationship of course! I had all but given up. I thought, at my age, there’s no way I’m going to find _the one_ but seeing you two…how happy you are, even though not everything goes smoothly. How unmistakably in love! I found myself feeling that I shouldn’t have given up on finding something like that.”

 

Bucky is vaguely aware of his mouth hanging open. He has no idea what she is talking about. Because there is nothing…romantic between him and Steve. At least, nothing outside of his own imagination. He wonders how Ms. Adams could have possibly come to a conclusion like this. “What makes you think we’re like that?”

 

“You know it’s very telling of you to _not_ deny anything-“

 

“Well, you’re wrong, so-“

 

“I’m sorry, I assumed.” Ms. Adams is a bit flustered now. “It’s just- the way he looks at you – I thought- Never mind. Enjoy the rest of your day, James.” Bucky doesn’t have a chance to ask her _how_ Steve looks at him because she hurries past the stairs and descends down to her apartment.

 

* * *

 

Steve always makes it a point to invite Bucky out whenever he goes anywhere. _Bucky, I’m going to the market, would you wanna come? I’m going down to the beach if you’d like to join me. I’m heading out for a walk, you can come too if you’d like._ Each time Steve asks, Bucky’s answer is the same. _Nah, thanks though._

Finally, Bucky can’t stand to mope around the house for a second longer and when Steve asks if he’d like to go somewhere with him, Bucky’s immediate answer is _yes_. It takes Steve by surprise, Bucky can see it on his face, but his expression quickly changes to one of excitement. Bucky grabs his coat and the two head out.

 

Bucky hadn’t paid attention when Steve mentioned where he was going. He finds himself slipping deeper and deeper into a panic as they take the familiar road down to the beach. His brain keeps trying to tell him that it’s physically impossible that he is going to get hurt by visiting the shore. His mind can’t process that information and instead falls into a frenzy. He’s mechanically walking beside Steve. His body taking over for itself again while his mind scatters. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to this?” Steve asks, clearly reading the discomfort etched on Bucky’s face.

 

Bucky nods stiffly. They turn a corner and the shore comes in view and Bucky thinks he might vomit. They carefully descend down a set of weather-worn steps from the sidewalk into the sand. Bucky is rooted at the bottom of the stairs. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave,” Steve says, Bucky can tell he’s forcing himself to sound casual. “I just wanted some fresh air.”

 

Bucky takes a few rigid steps until he reaches the place where the sand begins to gently slope down to the shoreline. He plants himself there and crosses his legs. He doesn’t take his eyes off the ocean. Steve comes to sit next to him, assuming the same sitting position. Their knees are touching and neither of them move away.

 

Bucky can imagine a thick, greyish-black tentacle slithering out from the shallows. It’s as wide as a man is tall and seems to stretch for a mile. He can see it wrapping around his waist, making sickeningly slick sounds and squeezing until all the air is gone from his lungs. It drags him down to the surf, the sand scraping along his face and chest. Then there’s water all around him, filling his nose and mouth and stinging his eyes.

 

A hand on his arm jerks him back to the beach. “Are you feeling okay?”

 

Bucky nods once, his mouth forming a tight line, and his gaze never faltering.

 

“What happened to you?” Steve’s voice is quiet, and his voice filled with pain. Suddenly, there’s anger rising through Bucky’s body, because Steve doesn’t know his pain. Doesn’t know what it’s like to be frightened for your life. He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning and regretting every shitty thing you’ve ever done and the opportunities you missed.

 

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Bucky grits out.

 

They sit there in silence for a while and Bucky feels numb. He realizes it must be cold, but Steve isn’t complaining. He’s just sitting there next to him with his wiry arms wrapped around his body. His coat is a little thin, and Bucky thinks he’d sell his soul for Steve to get a new one. “I’m ready to go,” he says quietly and struggles to his feet.

 

* * *

 

Steve brings home copies of the paper whenever he drops by the office to submit a cartoon. The headline is always the same. More ships disappearing. None of them are being found. Only a handful of survivors are washing up on shore or being picked up by other vessels. Sometimes there are pictures. Mangled bodies half buried in sand. Bucky throws these away before reading them. The rest of the missing crewmen are presumed dead. Bucky feels a small pang of envy toward them.

 

He’s pouring over the paper at the kitchen table when Steve comes home from a job. There’s a swipe of red paint across his cheek and a few flecks of green and blue on his white shirt. “You got a little-“ Bucky says, motioning toward his own cheek.

 

Steve lets out a weak laugh and shakes his head. “Yeah, I noticed.” He starts coughing- hacking really- and lifts a hand to cover his mouth. Bucky’s at his feet before he even knows what he’s doing and puts his hand on Steve’s back, just between his shoulder blades and guides him to one of the empty chairs at the table.

 

Steve slumps in the seat and takes a few deep breaths. “Are you okay?” Bucky can hear the concern in his own voice.

 

Steve nods. “Yeah,” his voice is hoarse now. “Just- it’s cold outside and I’ve been taking up painting people’s houses again. You know the inside. And it’s just very-“ he ends up having another coughing fit. Bucky feels utterly helpless and he slowly realizes that Steve must feel the same way. He was wrong- Steve does know what it’s like to drown.

 

“Easy,” Bucky says. He rushes to the cupboard and fishes out a glass. He sets it in the sink and turns on the faucet to fill it up about three-quarters of the way. Then, he sets the cup down in front of Steve and drags his chair closer to Steve’s. “Just take some deep breaths, don’t worry about sayin’ anything.”

 

Finally Steve catches his breath, drinks all his water, and turns to give Bucky a small smile. “Well aside from nearly dying there, I finally have some good news.”

 

“What is it?” Bucky didn’t know he could speak this softly anymore.

 

Steve lifts his hips up from the chair a couple of inches and fishes something out of his back pocket. He drops a thick roll of cash on the table. “Finally got enough to pay Miss Adams.”

 

* * *

 

It’s an honest to God cold night. Both Bucky and Steve are wrapped up in blankets and sitting on the couch together. Steve seems to be paying attention to the program buzzing over the radio, but Bucky’s only half invested. His mind is rocketing through the probable course of events. It’s too cold. He’s going to have to share a bed with Steve- something he formerly enjoyed- but now the idea made him feel like he has swallowed thorns. It’s like he’s feeling excitement’s ugly cousin who is just way too intense in every way.

 

He recognizes the program’s end tune and grips the blanket tighter. Steve turns to look at him with those stupid-blue eyes. “I’m gonna go off to bed,” he began. “Buck it’s real cold tonight. I get that you don’t wanna- do what we normally do. And that’s fine. But, I think you oughta take a couple of my blankets.”

 

There’s so much wrong with the statement, Bucky doesn’t know where to begin. “It’s not that I don’t wanna,” Bucky blurts out. He immediately clams up because the admission is already too much information.   
  
“Then- But you’ve been-“ Bucky is relieved that Steve is having as much trouble processing stuff as he is.

 

“Also, if anyone needs the extra blankets it’s you,” Bucky interrupts him.

 

Steve frowns. “Look,” he says, “I’m going to bed. You are welcome to come on over and share mine, if that’s what you want. If not, that’s perfectly okay, too.” He pushes himself up off the couch. “But, if I wake up in the middle of the night with you trying to dump your blankets off on me, I’m going to be upset.” He strides off to their bedroom and shuts the door.

 

Bucky sits up and half-listens to a couple more programs. He’s mostly just trying to work up the courage to act out the decision he’s already made. Finally, when his eyes are dry and his eyelids heavy, he gets up, turns the radio and light off and opens the bedroom door. His eyes slowly adjust to the dark. The moon is slightly fuller and the room has a grayish glow to it. He can make out Steve’s bed with Steve’s sleeping form planted in the middle of it. After a couple of breaths, he lays his blanket down over Steve, who stirs, and sits on the edge of the bed.

 

A couple more deep breaths later and he’s laying down and struggling to get under the covers. He doesn’t have a whole lot of room so he gently prods Steve’s spine with his fingers. Steve grumbles, “Yeah?”

 

“Move over,” Bucky replies.

 

“You move over.” Steve’s voice is a little cranky, but it also has that faint sleepy quality to it that Bucky secretly, really likes.

 

“Can’t do that or I’ll end up on the floor,” Bucky whispers. “Besides, this was your idea.”

 

Steve mumbles something Bucky can’t make out and moves himself over so that Bucky can comfortably lie down. They fall asleep with just their arms touching and Bucky can’t help but ache for more.

 

* * *

 

Bucky still has trouble sleeping, even when he is enveloped by the warmth between the covers. But, it’s a little less lonely to listen to Steve’s breathing and the little noises he makes in his sleep. He doesn’t realize he has fallen asleep until he wakes up after what feels like a few short minutes to find the bedroom soaked in morning sunlight.

 

They end up sleeping next to each other again the next night. And, the night after that. Until finally, it becomes a normal part of their winter night routine again. Sometimes there are nightmares that force him awake with a roaring in his ears and the phantom sting of saltwater in his lungs. Sometimes he wakes Steve up. Unfortunately, tonight is one of those nights. “You ‘kay?” Steve mumbles sleepily.

 

“Yeah, fine.” Bucky sounds winded like he has just finished running a marathon.

 

Steve’s voice says he doesn’t buy it. But thankfully, he’s not in the mood to push. “You know you can talk to me.”

 

“Yeah. I know.”

 

* * *

 

For whatever reason, Ms. Adams’ throwaway words haunt him in the coming days. He tries to be more perceptive. He tries to notice the _look_ she is talking about. But, all he sees is Steve looking at him like he always does with his big, round eyes and warm smile. She has to be reading into it.

 

Ms. Adams didn’t have to go planting ideas in his head, but here he is, sitting on the porch with the guy he calls his best friend and wondering if they could ever be more. They’re sitting on the porch because the radiator’s still broken and it’s just about the same temperature outside as it is inside their apartment. Besides, Bucky feels like he is turning into a shut in and any time spent outside helps him convince himself that he’s not.

 

“Whatcha thinking about?” Steve asks.

 

“The future,” Bucky replies, and for the most part, it’s the truth. Although it isn’t the entire truth.

 

“What about?” Of course Steve is going to keep interrogating him.

 

“I dunno, what are your plans for the future? I’ve never really given it a thought before.”

 

Steve laughs, a crisp, light sound. “I always thought it’d be us living in the same old apartment until we’re old and gray. But, I guess that’s not too realistic, huh.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Steve lets out another laugh but this time it’s more of a huff. “Well, you know,” he starts.

 

Bucky cuts him off because, no, no he really doesn’t know. “That’s all I’d ever really need,” he says wondering where the hell he’s pulling this out this courage, “This shitty apartment, hopefully having more than enough money to pay the rent, and you.” His cowardice forces him to tack on an, “I guess.”

 

“Well, looks like there’s no backing out now,” Steve says lightly, and Bucky is sure the meaning behind his words hasn’t come across. But, he is suddenly exhausted and doesn’t want to keep playing this game so he clams up and keeps staring off into space.

 

* * *

 

In the following days, Ms. Adams’ gal convinces her son to find Bucky some work at the cannery. He’s grateful because it not only means a little extra money coming in, it also means he finally gets a schedule to adhere to and time outside the house. He tells Steve about it and he gets an electric smile in response. Bucky vows to make good on his promises this time around.

 

In a matter of a couple of weeks, the two of them have pulled together enough money for rent. Bucky’s stomach twists as he realizes the next logical thing for them to do with his upcoming paycheck is get the radiator fixed. Settling down at the end of the day next to Steve is the only physical contact the two have and he’s reluctant to give it up.

 

But, he does. The repair guy shows up and an hour and a half later, Bucky feels hollow. Bucky thanks him when he leaves and falls down on the couch. Steve comes home sometime later and his expression is one of pure shock. “I’ve gotta be dreaming,” he says, peeling off his coat and hanging it neatly on one of the hooks near the door. “It’s- warm in here?”

 

“Must be your imagination,” Bucky replies, hoping he sounds casual.

 

Steve snorts and collapses on the couch next to him and wriggles around so that he’s leaning on Bucky. The evening is filled with the low hum of the radio and Steve’s warm heartbeat at his side and for the first time in a while, Bucky feels somewhat at ease.

 

* * *

 

Bucky feels like he’s falling backward without any way to stop. The winter wind whips around him and Steve as they make their way down the road. Before leaving the house he thought he could handle a trip to the lighthouse, but now he’s not so sure he can make it. He keeps thinking about dark, churning waters and angry, silent beast beneath the surface.

 

“Are you alright?” Steve asks and Bucky looks down to find his blue eyes sparkling with concern.

 

“Fine,” Bucky grits the word out. It’s a quick visit. Just pop in, pick up Steve’s art stuff, and leave. A sudden thought occurs to Bucky and he needs the distraction so he throws it out. “Why did you wait so long to pick up your stuff?”

 

Steve shrugs his narrow shoulders. “Just, couldn’t make it down here, I guess.” He looks just as nervous as Bucky does. It takes a moment for everything to fall into place in Bucky’s brain. But when it finally does, he realizes that Steve had mentioned being up at the lighthouse the night of…the incident. He supposes the lighthouse holds the same kind of negative place in Steve’s life as the sea holds in Bucky’s.

 

The lighthouse sprouts up in the distance, hiding behind the last row of homes and shops. As they get closer, it looms above them. Bucky tries to keep his breathing even as he hears the sound of waves hitting rock and he is shocked by Steve suddenly taking his hand.

 

They have shared a lot of personal contact in the past, but this was something new. Bucky lets his fingers slip into the spaces between Steve’s and gives his hand a squeeze. It’s his turn to ask, “You alright?”

 

Steve nods shortly and picks up his pace, towing Bucky along behind him. Bucky remains focused on the lighthouse the whole time, trying to ignore the waters around it. Once they get to the door, Steve reaches up with his free hand and uses the large, brass knocker to knock. He gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze and lets go just as the sound of a latch being undone is heard from the other side of the door.

 

The door swings open to reveal the man that Bucky could only assume is the lighthouse keeper. He’s tall and carries himself like a former seaman. He’s also missing an eye, and Bucky vaguely wonders how that came to be. But, he also knows it isn’t his place to ask. “Well!” the man says, eyeing up both Steve and Bucky. “I was wondering when you were going to be back. Is this your friend?”

 

“Bucky,” Steve says as a formal introduction, but Bucky gets the sense he’s been mentioned before.

 

“Nice to finally meet you.” The man holds out a hand and Bucky shakes it. “The name’s Nick.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Nick.”

 

And Nick steps back to let the two of them in and shuts the door behind him. Bucky feels immensely lighter once stepping inside, but Steve is still visibly tense. “Can’t stick around,” Steve’s voice is just a little too strained to be casual, “Just came to pick up my stuff.”

 

“Of course,” Nick says as he makes his way to the spiral metal staircase.

 

“I can wait here,” Bucky says, hoping to aid in the quick getaway Steve is probably planning.

 

He watches as the two ascend up the stairs and he mills around the first floor. Their voices carry and Bucky catches the faint bits of small talk. He takes time to idly poke around the coils of rope and buoys on the floor. There’s a painting of a view of the sea from a cliff and he wonders if Nicholas had the work commissioned too. A couple more minutes pass and he starts to pace and wonders what could be taking Steve so long. Keeping track of time is difficult, but it feels as though it’s been more than five minutes, and Bucky wonders if Steve’s planning on making this a real visit.

 

Bucky slowly makes his way to the stairs and begins to ascend. As he gets closer to the second floor landing, he can hear a hushed voice. He recognizes it as Nick’s and he creeps closer to the open door, trying to catch his words. “It was massive. You can’t understand how _big_ this thing was. Must’ve been as tall as this lighthouse.”

 

“And it attacked your ship?” Bucky recognized Steve’s voice.

 

“Wrapped its big, ugly tentacles around the whole thing and just folded it in half. I’m lucky all I lost was my eye. Plenty of guys lost more than that.”

 

“You’re right. That does sound unbelievable.” From the sound of his voice, Steve is believing every word this guy is saying.

 

Then all at once, Bucky’s ripped back to that night _. He can feel the cold spray of the sea on his face and he can hear the shouts of the other men scurrying around on deck. Some of them jump for it. He watches as one is plastered to the deck under the dark gray mass. Bucky can make out the rows of sucker cups on the underside just as it collides with the deck and he realizes with a start that it’s a tentacle. There’s a groan and a loud snap as the hull starts breaking apart under the arm of the beast. Bucky’s balance is thrown as the deck under his feet shifts violently. He stumbles to the edge of the deck and his arm catches on something that tears at his flesh and blinds him with pain. He looks down, but all he can see is blood. His head feels light and the world is spinning as he’s tossed into the black, choppy sea._

 

“Bucky!” There’s a hand on his arm. The touch makes him jolt backward into something. As he slowly forces himself back to the present, he realizes he’s backed up against the wall and Steve is looking at him with worry.

 

“Sorry,” Bucky says immediately. “Don’t know-“

 

“It’s alright,” Nick says, and Bucky realizes they share very similar experiences. “I’ll walk the two of you down. Just, take it slow.”

 

And then it’s a blur. He walks next to Steve on their way home, but makes it a point to avoid contact, instead preserving his own bubble of space. Once, they get home, he’s suddenly very tired and heads off to his bed with just a mumbled ‘good night’.

 

* * *

 

The next few days proceed like he’s reading from a script. He mechanically goes through his day, doing tasks, avoiding conversation, and tucking in long before his usual bedtime.

 

It takes Steve’s voice from the sofa one evening to pull him out of his routine. “Hey, you’re off tomorrow,” he begins, sounding somewhat unsure of himself. “Do you wanna listen to a few programs?”

 

Bucky considers saying no, but he ends up sitting next to the couch next to Steve. They’re sitting further apart than usual, and it strikes Bucky that he’s probably been more than a little weird lately so he stretches his arm around the back of the couch and Steve looks at him questioningly. He gives a little nod and Steve gives him a little smile and they’re back to cuddling up on the couch.

 

They sit in silent for a moment, Bucky’s not really paying attention to the radio, and it turns out Steve probably isn’t either. “Did I do something?”

 

“What?” Bucky has no other words.

 

“I mean, did I do something to upset you?”

 

“No.” Bucky hopes he sounds reassuring. “No, I’m fine.”

 

“You’re not.” Steve’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet. “And that’s okay.” He pauses. “Nick’s story- you heard it, didn’t you?”

 

Bucky’s mouth goes dry and he worries he’ll get bombarded by memories again, but he’s in his living room and he’s warm and most importantly he’s safe. “Yeah.”

 

“And, that’s what happened to you.”

 

Bucky can’t speak so he nods. He can feel Steve watching him, but he can’t bring himself to meet his gaze. He expects Steve to ask more questions, but he doesn’t.


	4. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ ʖ ͡°)

**Part Three:**

“Where others have failed, I will not fail.” - **Jules Verne, _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_**

* * *

 

Bucky’s not sure if Steve is more relaxed around him because he thinks he’s doing better or if Steve has gotten used to the mess he has become. Either way, it’s refreshing. Steve’s not afraid to touch him anymore. The little things come back like a pat on the back or a nudge to the ribs when he makes a bad joke. There’s new things now too, like holding hands. He feels like a silly kid with a crush when he thinks about the simple contact, but he loves it all the same. There are more hugs now, too. Sometimes when Bucky’s in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee in the morning, Steve’s sleepy self will wander in and wrap his arms around Bucky’s middle and press himself against his back. Those days always end up feeling better than most.           

 

Not that every day is perfect. Some days Bucky is still plagued with the vague feeling that _something_ is wrong even though everything appears to be perfectly fine. There are still nights when the little noises in the apartment unnerve him and the nightmares keep him from feeling rested. Of course, there are the mornings where he doesn’t think he can get out of bed, but through his own sheer will power (and sometimes Steve’s half-asleep coaxing) he gets up to start his day.

 

He still tries to avoid the beach at all costs. That’s where the memories are strongest. He also avoids going into town if he can help it. He always assumed there would be rude stares or whispers about his appearance behind his back. But, in actuality people just look at him with expressions of pity and remorse and he thinks that’s worse.

 

He and Steve are making their way through the market one evening. A group of dark clouds have been hanging over town all day and once they reached the shops, it begins to rain. Pellets of freezing water shower down to pummel their faces as they rush over the slick pavement for the cover of a nearby awning. “We just need a couple of things,” Bucky says, watching Steve shivering at his side. “I can run and grab them and you wait here. I’ll be back in …five minutes. Tops.”

 

“I’ll come with you,” Steve offers.

 

Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “It’s fine. I got it.”

 

Steve stays put, his hands buried in his pockets, and his back facing the wind. Bucky makes a run for it into the downpour. He’s soaked by the time he gets to the grocer. He leaves a trail of water that drips from his hair and his coat as he picks out items from the shelf. When he’s sure the shopping basket has everything he needs in it, he pays, and leaves with a brown paper bag clutched to his body. After braving the rain once more, he finds the awning where he left Steve empty.

 

At first, he looks through the shop’s windows, thinking Steve might have slipped inside. The only person inside is a bored looking store keeper behind the counter. “Steve!” He calls, spinning around to scan the street. The sheets of rain coming down from the sky make it difficult to make out anything more than a few feet away. Over the roar of the rain, he hears a noise in the alley between the two shops. He edges closer to the side of the building and peeks around the corner. He squints at two figures in the alley, one towering over the other. He realizes, the one on the ground is Steve and the other guy is raising a fist.

 

Without thinking, he drops the paper bag to the ground and sprints into the fight. “Leave him alone!”

 

The taller guy turns around and his face is vaguely familiar. Someone Bucky might have seen down at the docks. “Or what-“

 

There’s a sickening crack as Bucky’s fist comes into contact with the guy’s face and he stumbles backward into the wall, holding his nose with both hands. Blood seeps between his fingers and falls to his upper lip. “What the fuck-“

 

“Come on,” Bucky says, offering Steve a hand. Steve gets to his feet and the two quickly make their way to the mouth of the alley. Once Bucky collects their groceries, they’re on their way home. There isn’t much room for conversation as the two of them are all but running to get out of the rain. Bucky’s vaguely concerned the paper bag is going to disintegrate from getting soaked. Once they’re safely inside the apartment building, Bucky rounds on Steve. “What the hell were you doing? I thought you were through picking fights!”

 

“I didn’t pick a fight,” Steve mumbles back as he unlocks the door to their apartment.

 

“Really? Then explain why your face is fucked up like that.”

 

Steve turns to glare at him. There’s a purplish bruise already forming around his right eye and his face is starting to swell in weird ways. There’s a particularly ugly cut on one side of Steve’s face and he thinks Steve must have hit something on the way down. “He was running his mouth and I told him to shut up,” Steve explains. “Not my fault he decided to hit me.”

 

“Why would you even pay attention to anything a jerk like that’s gotta say?” Bucky sets the groceries down on the table and takes Steve by the hand to drag him into the bathroom. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to remind himself that he isn’t angry with Steve. He’s angry with the ass hole who put his hands on Steve. Don’t take it out on Steve-

 

“It was about you.” Steve stops in the doorway and Bucky pries open the medicine cabinet. He takes out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and sets it on the counter before unrolling a couple squares of toilet paper and carefully ripping them from the roll.

 

“I don’t care what idiots have to say about me, and neither should you,” Bucky says definitively as he folds the squares into one thick square on the counter. “Open that bottle up, will ya.”

 

Steve does and Bucky holds out the tissue and Steve carefully pours some peroxide on it. He then caps the bottle and puts it back on the counter. He stands still while Bucky hovers over him, cleaning away the blood and dirt. Steve winces periodically and hisses through his teeth, but he doesn’t say anything. Once Steve’s face looks more like a face and less like a bloody mess, Bucky tosses the tissue away and steps back to marvel at his work. “Shoulda been a doctor.”

 

Steve laughs, winces a little, and shakes his head. “I think there’s a little more to it than that.”

 

Bucky chuckles and is just about to leave when Steve edges in front of him. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when Steve reaches up with both hands and puts them on either side of Bucky’s face. Bucky can’t help but notice how soft Steve’s hands are- except the small callouses on his right hand from holding a pencil or a paintbrush. “What’s wrong?” he asks. Steve’s eyes seem like they can’t pick one spot to look at and instead dart around his face, lingering on his lips, before he meets Bucky’s gaze.

 

Steve hesitates for a moment before he asks in a quiet, but confident voice. “Can I kiss you?”

 

The question all but knocks the wind out of Bucky, but he recovers quickly and bows his head. How many times had he thought about kissing Steve? How many improbable daydreams had he spent figuring out exactly how it would happen. But, here they were, standing in the doorway to the bathroom with Steve’s face beaten half to hell. Maybe it’s not the place that makes the kiss special, Bucky muses.

 

He starts by pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead and notices Steve’s eyes widen in surprise. Bucky then sprinkles careful, gentle kisses across the swollen parts of Steve’s face. He can feel Steve’s warm breath against his cheek and he stoops down to press a kiss to Steve’s lips.

 

The kiss is just the chaste closed-mouthed press of lips for a few moments. Then, without much warning, Steve’s lips part under his and he can feel the gentle glide of Steve’s tongue on his lower lip. And then all at once, he’s licking into Steve’s mouth and about to grip Steve’s face with his hand. But, he remembers the damage already done to Steve’s face and he settles his hand on Steve’s hips. Steve angle’s himself toward him, hanging onto Bucky’s neck now.

 

Bucky breaks the kiss and pulls back and seeing Steve’s confused expression- his eyes darkened and his lips still parted slightly – pulls at his heartstrings. “The groceries,” he mumbles.

 

Steve lets out something between a huff and a laugh. “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

They share more kisses in the coming days. Some are short and sweet. Others are drawn out and convey more feelings than words ever could. Most of Bucky’s feelings are ecstatically positive. It feels like he’s swallowed the sun, but sometimes it burns much too hot to be contained. He is gripped with the fear of over stepping his bounds or – of messing up – or hurting Steve. Worries he can’t remember having before.

 

They’re lying down together, tucked under a couple quilts. The room is nearly visible in the dark with the full moon filtering through the window. Steve’s all healed up now and Bucky takes advantage of it by cupping Steve’s cheek with his hand and sliding his thumb across his cheek bone. Steve leans in and plants little kisses to Bucky’s jaw and Bucky’s hand falls to his shoulder. Steve backs up and looks at Bucky questioningly. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, just- just kissing. For now. Okay?”

 

Steve gives him a little nod and leans forward to press a kiss to his lips.

 

* * *

 

Bucky isn’t snooping. Not intentionally. He’s just gathering up discarded clothes from under the bed when he ends up dragging out a dust cloaked moleskin notebook. He knows that it’s Steve’s and he knows he has little to no business rifling through it. But, he sits cross-legged on the floor amidst the small pile of socks and undershirts to flip through it. A couple of loose piece of paper fall into his lap and he ignores them while he marvels at the drawings in front of him.

 

There are a few basic scenery sketches like the shoreline during a sunset or the lighthouse jutting up from the dark, rocky ridge. The drawings of these uncomfortable places don’t make him as sick as the places themselves. In fact, he’d say they were beautiful. The next few pages boast profiles like Ms. Adams’ wrinkled face pulled into a smile and Bucky’s heart skips a beat as he recognizes his own face. He appears the most often in a variety of poses. There are pictures of him laughing and pictures of him slumped over and looking off into the distance. He wonders if Steve drew these from memory or if he’d been right there sketching him without him even realizing.

 

He sets the notebook on the floor and is about to slip the loose piece of paper back within its pages when he stops. The pieces of paper, which he had assumed were just other sketches, are actually official documents. He carefully sets them down in his lap and unfolds them one by one. He recognizes one as a medical history and another as a note from the town physician. As he skims the note, he can feel his insides twisting up. It talks about how the patient – Steven Grant Rogers – is capable of fulfilling the requirements of the specified job regardless of his less than spectacular medical history. Bucky tosses the note aside and finds the last document to be a work permit.

 

At first he assumes these are outdated, just like the sketches in the notebook. But, he checks the dates and finds them to be recent. What job could Steve possibly be trying to do that requires a physical examination and a work permit? Maybe he was trying to get into factory work or something. Bucky hastily gets to his feet and kicks the notebook under the bed once more. He picks up the documents in his fist, leaving the laundry discarded on the floor. Deep down, he knows. He knows this means Steve is going to try to get out there on a fishing vessel. He is floored that Steve could even consider it. Not after everything that happened. That is happening.

 

* * *

 

When Steve comes home, the laundry has already been finished, folded, and put away. Bucky is sitting on the couch with a book open in his lap but he’s been reading the same sentence over and over for the past ten minutes.

 

“Is everything okay?” Steve asks, apparently reading the expression on Bucky’s face.

 

Bucky doesn’t reply. He just shuts the book and leans forward to place it on the coffee table. He picks up the stack of official documents and offers it out to Steve. Steve steps forward to accept the documents, watching Bucky’s face the whole time. He looks down at the papers in his hands and freezes. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it’s for.”

 

“Bucky-“

 

“Yes or no. Are you _still_ trying to get a job on one of those fishing boats?” Bucky’s heart is thundering in his ears.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why haven’t you said anything?” He can hear the emotion in his own voice. The heartbreak.

 

“Because I knew you wouldn’t let me go through with it,” Steve replies flatly. Bucky can’t believe he’s not feeling anything. It’s not fair that Steve can do this and not feel a damn thing while he has to feel everything.

 

“Because people are _dying_ out there. Every other week there are more reports of missing ships. Not just guys getting thrown overboard. Entire ships. Just gone.” Bucky is worried he might start crying out of sheer frustration. _Why is this still an issue?_

 

Steve straightens up and tosses the papers down onto the table. “That’s why I have to do it now. Because it’s my only shot. This is the only time they’ll take someone like me.”

 

Bucky gets to his feet. “You wanna throw your life away. Fine. But, if they’ll take you, they’re bound to take me too.”

 

“Bucky-“

 

“No. I told you, ‘til the end of the fucking line. I’m not sitting here while you get yourself killed.” With that he storms off to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a little too much force.

 

* * *

 

“You’ve got some experience, that’s good.” The captain is glancing between him and his documents with questioning hazel eyes. This is Bucky’s first visit to the docks since the incident and the queasiness he feels has little to do with the overpowering odor of fish. “So…I’m guessing from your work history and medical records that you were attacked by the beast.”

 

Bucky eyes him uncertainly. “Yeah.”

 

“Good, good.” The captain tucks the papers into his coat pocket and extends a hand for Bucky to shake. “I look forward to having you aboard.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky and Steve are like two planets in two separate orbits for the next few days. Finally, when Bucky gets home from his last day of work at the cannery, Steve is laid out on the couch under a blanket with one arm tucked under his head. Bucky can read on his face that he’s not over their argument. But, he decides to swallow his pride and makes his way over to scoot Steve’s legs over and sit on the couch.

 

“So are we talking again?” Steve asks, choosing to look up at the ceiling instead of Bucky’s face.

 

“I’m sorry for snooping,” Bucky says quietly.

 

Steve lets out a long breath before answering, “I’m sorry for going behind your back on this one.”

 

“I just have to know, before we end up out there, why are you so desperate to get on one of those boats?”

 

Steve finally looks at him with glossy blue eyes. “Freedom.” The small laugh that follows is almost devoid of feeling. “Because I can’t even imagine what it would be like to look out across the water- just knowing that I could go anywhere. Everywhere. I want to be able to see it- live it- just once.”

 

Something about the dreamy faraway look makes Bucky sigh and lie down, squeezing his body into the too small space on the couch and slipping under the blanket. Steve moves to make more room, and the two of them end up pressed together, lying on their sides, and facing each other.

 

The worries Bucky has are still buzzing around in the back of his mind, but now they’re overshadowed by an even bigger worry. What if they don’t have the chance to do this again?

 

He wriggles so that the arm trapped under him is freed up and uses it to brush a stray lock of hair from Steve’s face. Steve’s head moves with the motion, whether consciously or unconsciously. Bucky’s eyes find the line of Steve’s throat and he leans forward to press a tentative kiss there. Steve inhales sharply but doesn’t move and cautiously Bucky plants another little kiss just below the first. He starts a path down to the collar of Steve’s cotton shirt. They’re pressed together so tightly that he can feel Steve’s heart beating rapidly. Cautiously, he parts his lips against Steve’s skin. As he moves back up Steve’s neck he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to every inch of exposed skin.

 

Steve’s breathing pretty hard and he slides his arm around Bucky’s waist to pull him even closer. He pulls back to catch Steve’s gaze. Looking into Steve’s eyes is like looking into the depths of the ocean itself. His lips are parted so that he can breathe through his mouth. The sight itself sends a thrill through him, but Bucky is suddenly struck with the thought of Steve having an asthma attack in the middle of their fun and he is both mortified and about to laugh aloud.

 

“What?” Steve asks, searching his face for some clue as to what he might be thinking.

 

“Nothing,” Bucky murmurs and leans forward to catch Steve’s lower lip between his teeth.

 

Steve exhales and in a second, their lips are moving together. The kiss is slow and Bucky struggles to keep it that way. The energy inside of him is practically vibrating throughout his entire body. Steve’s tongue slides into his mouth and he revels in the faint taste that is so distinctly Steve.

 

Steve’s hand finds its way under Bucky’s shirt and his fingers delicately brush along the line of Bucky’s spine. Bucky’s shivers against him and Steve lets out a little breathy chuckle against his lips. “Cut it out,” Bucky mutters, but his tone is light-hearted.

 

The wet sounds of their kisses coupled with the way Steve squirms against him has Bucky feeling so hot he can barely breathe. He wants to put his mouth all over Steve’s body. Wants to know how the rest of him tastes. He breaks the kiss and murmurs into Steve’s lips. “Wanna do something for you. Would you let me do something for you?”

 

“Yeah.” Steve’s breathless and it sends a jolt of electricity down Bucky’s spine.

 

Bucky starts to sit up and one of Steve’s hands reaches out to grip the front of his shirt. He sits all the way up and puts his hand over Steve’s. “Trust me,” he whispers.

 

Steve nods slowly and Bucky can’t help but grin. “Alright. Sit up, then.”

 

Normally, Steve doesn’t take too kindly to people telling him what to do. However, he quickly sits up and swings his legs over the side of the couch to let his feet rest on the floor. Bucky carefully slips from the couch to kneel on the hardwood. Steve watches Bucky curiously, but he doesn’t open his mouth to ask questions.

 

Bucky puts his hand on one of Steve’s knees and gently pushes it aside to spread his legs apart. He settles between them, kneeling on the cool hardwood floor. Steve scoots forward so that his back is no longer resting against the back of the couch.

 

Bucky takes that as his cue to continue. He carefully slips his hand under Steve’s shirt and hikes it up, revealing his concave stomach. His hip bones and ribs stick out under his skin. Bucky leans forward to suck little red marks into the skin just below Steve’s ribs. Steve inhales sharply and Bucky watches as both of his hands ball up into little fists on the couch. Bucky trails lower, alternating between sucking and nipping at Steve’s soft skin.

 

He gets to the top of Steve’s pants and moves to unbutton them. He looks up to see Steve’s dark, blue eyes watching him intently. “Still with me?” Bucky asks quietly.

 

Steve licks his lips and nods eagerly. Bucky gives him a little smile as he slowly struggles with the top button of Steve’s pants. He gets through the first two when Steve takes pity on him with a little chuckle and murmurs, “Let me help you.” He reaches down to unbutton the rest of the buttons.

 

“Show off,” Bucky mutters as Steve lifts his hips slightly to drag his pants down. Bucky helps him out as best he can and soon, Steve’s pants are just a rough pool of fabric on the floor. He kicks them away and Bucky works at pulling the waistband of Steve’s shorts down.

 

Steve’s cock slips out, already hard and Bucky doesn’t wait for him to pull his underwear all the way down. It stretches around his thighs as Bucky leans forward to lick a slow, stripe from the base to the tip. He glances up to see Steve’s head lolled back, his mouth slightly agape, and his eyes squeezed shut. He pauses to ask, more teasing than anything, “You alright?”

 

Steve’s lips come together and he hums a quiet, “Mmhm.”

 

“You sure?” He doesn’t give Steve enough time to answer before he slips his lips around the head, tracing his tongue in little patterns along the underside of Steve’s cock as he slides it further into his mouth.

 

“Good,” Steve gasps. “Real good. Keep-“

 

Bucky hums in reply and the vibrations must do something to Steve because he lets out a choked out moan and one of his hands finds its way into Bucky’s hair. Bucky uses his hand to hold Steve’s hips down against the couch cushions. He can feel Steve’s thighs struggling against the restraint of his pants.

 

Bucky loves the way Steve trembles under his touch and the little noises he makes under his breath. Particularly when he starts murmuring Bucky’s name over and over. Bucky feels his hand pulling at his hair. “I- I’m-“

 

When Steve comes it’s salty, like a mouthful of seawater. But, Bucky swallows and slowly slips Steve’s cock from his mouth. Steve’s slumped against the back of the couch, his chest rising and falling with each strained breath. Bucky struggles to his feet and Steve suddenly sits forward, looking up at him with that God damn desperate look on his face. “I want to do something for you too.”


	5. Part Four

“Nature's creative power is far beyond man's instinct of destruction” - **Jules Verne, _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_**

* * *

 

Steve and Bucky stand side by side on the dock. Steve has all of his necessary belongings in a knapsack that’s weighing on his shoulders and his papers clutched in his hand. Part of him is filled with excitement at the notion of finally being able to see the ocean from the deck of a ship. Another part of him is excited to share that moment with…Bucky. He can’t imagine anyone else he would rather do this with. The biggest part of him was nervous because there is a real threat living and breathing just under the surface of the sea and few men have survived an encounter with her.

 

Steve recognizes the captain as he makes his way down the wooden dock. He’s about Bucky’s height but he’s much broader, probably due to his time spent at sea. He wears a sailor’s hat on top of his head of thick, dark, curly hair. The bottom half of his face is covered by a thick, dark beard. He has a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and a pipe in his free hand. There’s a woman at his side, a pretty gal with fiery red hair pulled back at the nape of her neck and glittering green eyes. Her gaze sweeps over Bucky and Steve and she elbows the captain in the ribs and nods toward them.

 

The two of them make their way over to meet Bucky and Steve. “So these are the new guys.” The woman speaks with a thick Russian accent.

 

“Steve Rogers.” Steve extends a hand to shake hers and she merely looks down at it.

 

“James Barnes,” Bucky says from beside him.

 

“You can- and will refer to me as Captain,” the captain says in an authoritative tone. He gestures to the woman, “And this is Natalia Romanova.”

 

“It’s bad luck- right?” Steve turns to find two other men making their way toward them. One of them has sandy hair and is scrutinizing him and Bucky closely. The other man, the one who is speaking, has darker hair and a light demeanor. “Having a woman aboard,” he finishes.

 

“I always knew you weren’t the sharpest tool in the shed, Scott, but if you say another word about it, you’re dumber than I thought,” Captain replies cooly. “Steve, James. This is Scott Lang and Clint Barton.”

 

Clint is standing nearest to Steve, he’s frowning at the captain. “Pleasure to meet you,” Steve says, holding out his hand to shake Clint’s. Clint doesn’t even turn to look at him.

 

“He’s a little hard of hearing,” Scott says, leaning around Clint to speak directly to Steve. “You gotta make sure he can see your face when you talk.” His expression falters as he looks at something just over Steve’s shoulder. Steve turns to see another woman making her way down the dock. “Seriously?” Scott mumbles. “We won’t make it out of port at this rate.”

 

Captain nods to the newcomer. She has sharp, dark features and her hair reminds Steve of the captain’s. Except that hers falls freely to her shoulders, framing her angular face. She doesn’t say anything and instead just nods back to the captain. “This is Wanda Maximoff.” She scans the group as the captain introduces her and everyone murmurs a greeting.

 

“And here’s the final member of our rag-tag little gang,” Captain says as another man makes his way toward them. He’s tall and well built and the only one on the docks wearing a smile.

 

“Scott and Clint! Why am I not surprised you two are still at it?” He strides over to clap Clint on the back who looks over and grins at him.

 

“Good to see you, Sam,” Clint says.

 

“So, this is everyone?” Scott asks, glancing around the group. “No offense, but I thought there’d be more of us.”

 

“You know what it’s like trying to find _volunteers_ now days,” the Captain grumbles, fishing around in his coat pockets and producing a box of matches. “Alright everyone, follow me to the best ship on the water.”

 

Clint snorts, but they all obey, following the captain to the ship docked a few feet away. It’s smaller than Steve would have imagined, he was suddenly much more concerned about their future trip. They all board the ship, Bucky turning back to help Steve out. “Still time to back out,” Bucky mutters in a low voice.

 

Steve looks up to see the strained expression on Bucky’s face and he regrets agreeing to have him along. He can only imagine what kind of thoughts are rolling around in Bucky’s head. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” he replies quietly.

 

‘Then I am too.”

 

* * *

 

As everyone stores their stuff away in the bunks below deck, Steve feels the entire room shift and realizes they have to be getting on their way. He quickly shoves his knapsack under his bunk and squeezes his way over to the stairs.

 

When he gets up to the deck, a refreshing- if not chilly- breeze meets him. He makes his way over to the railing and watches the shoreline shrink behind them as they pull out further toward the sea.

 

“Careful,” a voice says from behind him and he turns to find Natalia watching him. “One big wave and you could be thrown into the sea.”

 

Steve recognizes the joking tone hidden deep in her voice and he chuckles. “Thanks.”

 

“So, is this your first time out?” Sam joins them.

 

Steve nods, not taking his eyes off the view. “That obvious, huh?”

 

“Nah, it’s just…you have _the look_.” Steve glances over to see Sam also looking out over the water.

 

“The look?”

 

They’re interrupted by raised voices coming from below deck. Steve tears his eyes away from the blue expanse stretching out in front of him to see Bucky quickly ducking out from below deck, shaking his head. “What’s going on?” Sam asks, edging toward the door.

 

Bucky just shrugs and makes his way over to lean on the railing next to Steve. Scott and Clint appear from below deck, both looking ready to throw hands. “I’m just saying, no one’s holding a gun to your head!” Clint shouts, “We can turn around and drop you right off-“

 

“No one’s holding a gun to my head-” Scott turns to yell at Clint “-But that doesn’t mean I have a choice. I’ve got a daughter to take care of-“

 

“You are _not_ the only one with a fucking family!” There’s a flush rising in Clint’s face and Natalia quickly steps in between them.

 

“You two need to cool off.”

 

The two of them look like they’re about to ignore Natalia’s order, but instead Scott ends up shaking his head and making his way to the front of the ship. Clint turns around to make his way in the opposite direction.

 

“What was that all about?” Steve asks quietly.

 

He is addressing Bucky, but Sam answers him. “That business with the sea monster’s got everyone on edge,” he explains.

 

He can feel Bucky tense up at his side and he decides to drop the questions.

 

* * *

 

Later on in the day, Steve finds himself struggling to carry a metal bucket of chum over to the side of the ship. The sun is shining through a thin veil of clouds, but the air is still cold. He’s sweating under the layers of clothes he’s wearing. Bucky, Sam, Clint, and Scott are perched with their lines cast over the rails. There is already a murky layer of fish parts on the surface of the water, but nothing is biting.

 

Steve had imagined it would be different. There should be more ships out on the water, crews of different vessels hollering at each other, and constant movement on deck. But, instead the waters around them are clear all except for a single ship a few hundred yards away.

 

Steve sets the bucket down next to the rails and Natalia comes over to relieve him. He plops down next to Bucky, trying to control his breathing, and feeling like his heart is going to race right out of his chest. “You all right?” He looks up to find Clint watching him with a concerned expression.

 

“Yeah,” he replies breathlessly, “I’m good.”

 

They stay at it until the sun dips down to the horizon. In all that time they collect barely enough fish to fill a couple of ice chests. Not nearly as much as they should be catching. _It really is barren out here._

When night finally falls, a thick fog descends on them. Steve can barely make out the lights of the other ship through the thick, gray mist. The crew goes below deck to play cards and drink, but Steve has no desire to let the ocean out of his sight. Instead, he sits cross-legged with his head resting against the rails. He hears hushed voices from behind him and he struggles to block them out, focusing instead on the gentle roll of the waves.

 

He catches tidbits of the conversation. “We have to turn back.” He doesn’t recognize the woman’s voice, so he assumes it belongs to Wanda.

 

“We’re not done here,” Captain replies. “We go back with the amount we caught tonight and I won’t break even.”

 

“I was right about the fog,” she says, “And I will be right about this too.”

 

“I’ve done my research, Wanda. All of the ships that disappear are the big commercial ones. That thing’s not even going to notice us out here.” The captain explains calmly.

 

“Why bring me aboard if you will not listen to what I’m saying?”

 

“Because you’re the best damn navigator out there,” Captain explains, still not raising his voice.

 

There’s a huff and Steve hears the door to the lower decks open and slam shut. He turns around to see the captain lighting his pipe. “Find what you’re looking for out there?” Captain asks.

 

Steve turns around to continue squinting through the fog. “Not sure,” he replies, but he does feel significantly lighter being out on the water. Better than he ever felt on land.

 

The captain makes his way over to take a seat next to Steve. “You know you’re the only one on this ship- maybe aside from me- who actually wants to be here.”

 

Steve lets out a little laugh. “Yeah. Ask Bucky. He’ll tell you. I’m full of stupid ideas. The captain shakes his head, hiding a smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eaves drop but-“

 

As though he’s reading his mind, the captain answers, “Wanda thinks we’re going to be attacked by the…monster. Soon, maybe even tonight. She wants to get off the water as soon as possible.”

 

“How can she know?” Steve asks.

 

“Hell if I know. How does she know where the underwater currents are? How can she tell when it’s going to storm or- in this case- fog? I really don’t know.”

 

The captain fishes in his peacoat and pulls out a metal flask. Holding his pipe between his teeth, he unscrews the cap. He holds it out to Steve and Steve considers denying him. Instead he takes the flask and takes a deep drink. The alcohol stings on the way down and he coughs and sputters a bit as he hands the flask back to Captain. The captain takes his pipe from his mouth and takes a swig himself without a single wince.

 

“What happens if we really do get attacked?” Steve asks.

 

“Then I’m going down swinging.”

 

There’s a soft noise from behind them and both of them turn around. Steve smiles to find Bucky, half illuminated by the ship’s lights. His shirt’s untucked and the top two buttons are undid. Steve tries his best not to stare. The captain gets to his feet and nods to the two of them before mumbling a quick goodnight and heading off.

 

“What were you two talking about?” Bucky asks, taking the captain’s seat.

 

Steve hesitates for a moment because Bucky’s been through enough and he doesn’t need to be reminded of the horrors he’s seen. “Wanda thinks we might get attacked tonight.”

 

“You don’t sound nervous,” Bucky replies quietly.

 

“Neither do you,” Steve retorts.

 

“Figure if I can survive it once, I can do it again.” Bucky slings an arm around Steve’s shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry for dragging you along.” Steve leans into Bucky’s warm side and catches a wiff of alcohol on his breath.

 

Bucky laughs hollowly. “Nothing’s even happened yet and you’re already apologizing. For all you know we could wake up tomorrow, haul in some more fish, and get back to the docks before dinner.” There’s a weight on top of Steve’s head and he realizes Bucky is resting his cheek there. “Remember when we were kids and you convinced your ma to drive us out to the fair on her day off?”

 

Steve laughs. “Yeah. You used some of your pocket change to buy us hot dogs and ice cream.”

 

“You got in a yelling match with the guy at one of the game booths because you figured out he was rigging the whole thing. Gave you a teddy bear to shut you up.” Steve can hear the smile in Bucky’s voice.

 

“Well, someone had to do something, you were about to spend three month’s worth of allowance! And then you dared me to ride that God damn roller coaster.”

 

“So this is payback for that?” Bucky sits up to ruffle a hand through Steve’s hair.

 

Steve chuckles and swats his hand away. “Of course. My revenge. Years in the making.” The two of them stop and look at each other for a few moments and Steve sits up to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips. He pulls back when Bucky’s hand is suddenly in his hair again, this time holding him in place while Bucky’s lips work against his. It’s raw and desperate. Like he’s kissing him for the very last time.

 

When they pull apart, Steve’s breathless and Bucky’s eyes are sad. “I love you.” The admission is quiet, but sincere. “I’m starting to think I always have.”

 

Steve huffs a little laugh and his hand clasps over Bucky’s still tangled in his hair. He runs a thumb along the lines of Bucky’s fingers. “I love you too.”

 

They sit like that for a few moments before a noise ghosts over the sea. It sounds like an explosion with the faint noise of shouting. Steve straightens up and Bucky’s head whips around in the direction of the noise. Through the thick fog, he can make out the lights from the other ship. “What the hell-“ Bucky struggles to his feet. The ship’s horn blares and all at once the light goes out.

 

Steve is frozen for a moment and the door from below opens and the rest of the crew spills onto deck demanding to know what the commotion is about. “Turn out the lights!” The captain orders, coming into view.

 

“We need to get out of here.” Wanda is right behind him and her eyes are wide with desperation.

 

Steve rushes over to follow the captain’s orders and within a few moments they are swallowed by darkness. Steve wanders back over to the group, careful to avoid the equipment still scattered around on deck to stand next to Bucky. In the pale moonlight, Bucky looks white as a sheet. His eyes are wide and his mouth is fixed into a tight line. Steve takes his hand and gives it a squeeze.

 

“Nobody panic,” Captain’s voice is quiet once more, but it has lost its distinct quality of calmness.

 

“What’s even going on?” Scott looks between everyone with wide eyes. “What was all that noise?”

 

“The other ship, the one we’ve been seeing all day,” Steve begins to explain, “Well there was all that noise and now their lights are out.”

 

“So there’s been an attack?” Somehow Scott’s eyes get even bigger.

 

“Not necessarily,” Natalia muses.

 

“You have a better explanation?” Scott rounds on her, but the look in her eyes shuts him up immediately.

 

“How fast can this boat go?” Clint asks.

 

“We should just stay put,” Sam suggests. “Stay put and stay quiet.”

 

“Sam’s right. That thing probably doesn’t even know we’re out here.” Captain takes a drag from his pipe, his face illuminated briefly by the glowing embers within, and blows out a faint cloud of gray smoke.

 

A few tense moments later and something bumps against the hull, causing the ship to rock slightly. “What the hell was that?” Scott asks, edging away from the edge of the deck.

 

“What the hell do you think that was?” Clint shoots back. He makes his way over to the railing and looks out onto the water.

 

“We have to get back to land.” There’s desperation in Wanda’s voice and her expression is twisted into one of panic.

 

“Look, sharks do the same thing. They nudge their prey a little bit, test to see if they’re alive or something. Then if they’re not interested they swim away.” Steve can tell Sam is trying to be level headed but there’s an edge to his voice.

 

There’s another bump to the hull of the ship, this one bigger than the first. Steve is thrown forward and he feels Bucky’s arm on his shoulder, holding him back. The captain springs into action, making his way for the ladder up to the control deck. Wanda follows closely behind.

 

“Everyone get away from the railings,” Natalia says, striding over to Clint and clasping his shoulder. He turns around and for a second Steve doesn’t think he’ll move. But, he ends up following Natalia toward the center of the deck.

 

“Are you alright?” Steve murmurs just loud enough for Bucky to hear.

 

“No. Not really,” Bucky replies.

 

The ship’s engines roar to life and the boat slowly begins to drift in the direction of land. For a few stressful moments the only noise is the engines. Steve thinks Sam might be right. Maybe the bumps against the hull are just a friendly shark trying to riddle out if they are food or foe.

 

The third bump is the strongest and Steve hears the unnerving groan of metal under weight. Everyone is sent falling sideways and Steve is unable to hold himself up. He comes down hard onto the deck, his knees screaming in pain. Bucky ends up collapsed next to him. “What do we do?” Steve whispers to Bucky.

 

“I dunno.” Bucky sounds like he’s far off, like he’s left his body. He’s attempting to get back to his feet. “There’s nothing- nothing to do.”

 

Then, with the hideous sound of something scraping against metal, the boat grinds to a halt. “Why are we stopping?” Scott cups his hands around his mouth to yell up at Captain and Wanda.

 

“We’re not!” Captain shouts back. “Got her running on full power!”

 

The ship starts to rock back and forth as though an invisible hand is shaking it. There’s an awful, loud crunching noise from below deck and Natalia stumbles to the door to the crew’s quarters and throws it open. “Taking on water!” She yells before making her way down.

 

“Nat!” Clint follows behind.

 

Steve moves to help in anyway he can but there’s a vice-like grip on his shoulder. He whips around to find Bucky looking at him. He looks like a ghost. “We need to help,” Steve says firmly.

 

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Bucky hisses. “If you get trapped down there it’s over. You’re a goner.” His eyes are suddenly wide and Steve follows his gaze. At first glance it looks like an eel, slithering around on deck. He realizes quickly that the black, wriggling mass is no eel it all. It’s too long. There are no eyes. No mouth.“Shit!”

 

Sam comes out of nowhere with an axe raised over his head. Steve doesn’t have time to ponder where he found the weapon. The blade of the axe severs right through the mass and the end is left flopping on the wood, making a sickening, slick noise. There’s the sound of the engine choking and cutting out.

 

The Captain appears, swearing loudly. He’s got a shotgun held in his arms and his expression is determined. _I’m going down swinging_ , Steve recalls. “What the hell is that?” he shouts, gesturing to the still-moving, dark mass on the deck.

 

“It’s a tentacle.” Steve is surprised by Bucky’s voice.

 

“A tentacle?” the captain repeats, using his toe to prod the mass.

 

Natalia appears, soaked from head to toe. “The leak is out of control. We can’t fix it out here.”

 

“Does anyone have some _good_ news?” the captain looks between them.

 

Suddenly it’s very quiet. Everyone freezes where they are and this time Steve doesn’t bother hoping for the best. “Is-is it over?” Scott’s voice is a whisper.

 

Then all at once, five pillars rise up out of the ocean, surrounding the boat and blocking out the sky. Steve is splattered with ice-cold water and his eyes sting as he struggles to keep them open. Everyone is shouting all at once, but he can’t make out any of their words.

 

He watches as the captain raises the shotgun and aims it at one of the pillars. He fires, the shot echoing through the chaos. The bullet finds its way to its mark with a wet squish. If the creature felt the bullet, it made no indication of it.

 

One of the tentacles comes down on the front half of the boat sending splinters and debris flying. Something is pushing Steve down, shielding him. His arm is twisted awkwardly underneath his body and pain shoots through it. “Come on!” Bucky’s voice is loud in his ear and he feels himself being pulled up. A moment later he’s submerged in the freezing dark waters. There’s still yelling and more gunfire.

 

Steve struggles to tread water and keep his head above water. He watches as Bucky reaches out and draws a large piece of driftwood over toward them. Steve rests the top half of his body onto the debris. Bucky’s pressed to his side and begins to kick so they float away from the wreckage. “What about everyone-“ Steve begins.

  
“We can’t worry about them right now,” Bucky replies.

 

They’re only ten feet away when there’s an explosion behind them. Steve watches as the remainder of the ship is engulfed in flames, illuminating the…tentacles. Three of them still rise out, about a hundred feet from the surface while the other two knot around the ship.

 

He hears the screams and shouts of the others and a sickening crack as the ship finally disappears beneath the surface. There must be gasoline or something because the surface of the water still burns. He watches as the shadow of the beast disappears below the surface. Through the dim light of the fire and the moon, he watches the shadow pass below them, a strong current of movement surrounding it. Then all at once, it’s gone.

 

He looks back up to the wreckage. “Captain?” he calls.

 

“Keep your voice down,” Bucky warns him. “It’s not safe. We have to get back to shore.”

 

Steve’s head whips around, trying to figure out what direction that would be. He catches sight of a light, cutting through the fog. It pulses like it has a heartbeat. He recognizes it as the lighthouse. So, the two of them kick, maneuvering their floating piece of debris toward the light. It pulls them in toward shore, beckoning like a phantom finger in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The captain is based on my boyfriend. I talked to him about writing this fic and he asked if I could write him into it. Thanks for all the love & support, this bad ass sea captain is for you.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The human mind delights in grand conceptions of supernatural beings." - **Jules Verne, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea**

The water slides up the sandy shore and just as it comes within a few inches of Steve’s bare feet, it shies back into the sea. It’s yet another lazy Sunday afternoon and the he is settled in the sand, content to watch the ocean do its age-old dance with the shoreline. The sun beats down on him leaving his skin feeling warm under his cotton shirt. His sketchbook is open on his lap revealing an almost photographic copy of the empty horizon in front of him. He snaps it shut and stows his pencils away and gets to his feet. Sand clings to his legs as he makes his way up the beach toward Bucky.

_It feels like yesterday the two of them washed up on shore, lungs half full of water. Through the dim light of dawn, they could make out a couple other figures on the beach. He recognized them as Sam and Natalia. "Are you alright?" he heard Bucky's voice from beside him. Sam and Natalia made their way over, her arm was slung over his shoulders and the trail of blood coming from her leg was almost as red as her hair._

_"We are fine," she gritted out. "Have you seen the others?"_

_"No." Bucky sounded empty._

_"Where's the captain?" Steve wheezed. Sam and Natalia exchanged a look._

_"Well, the ship was going down," Sam explained slowly. "He just kept firing off shots at those...tentacles. I jumped when one of them started wrapping itself around the ship. When I looked back-" He suddenly looked very sick._

_"The monster had the captain in one of its arms. He was crushed," Natalia finished for him._

_The would find out later through news paper reports that aside from the captain, every member of the crew survived that night. Reporters called it a miracle._

Bucky smiles at him when he gets closer. He’s sitting cross-legged in the sand, his dark hair pulled back in a rubber band to keep it out of his face. Steve stoops down to steal a quick kiss from him before he collapses in the sand next to him. “Let me see,” Bucky says quietly, nodding to Steve’s sketchbook. Steve opens it up and lays it across Bucky’s lap. “Better than the real thing,” Bucky muses.

Steve leans up against Bucky’s side and Bucky drapes his arm over Steve’s shoulder, his hand resting across Steve’s chest. The only sound is the rolling waves meeting the shore and the gulls overhead. After a few minutes, Steve notices Bucky isn’t looking at his sketches any longer. His eyes are instead focused on the blue surf rolling in.

“Ready?” Steve asks, sliding the sketchbook off Bucky’s lap and snapping it shut.

Bucky regards him with sparkling eyes, “Yeah,” he replies, “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, this is the thing that has literally consumed me for the past ... week maybe?
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Also in case anyone is curious Ms. Adams & her lady are also super in love and super happy thank u.
> 
> ALSO, I asked my boyfriend if he wanted his character to be alive or dead at the end of this chapter (I was going to make him be alive) but he said that if I made him dead to either have it be for a really cool reason or for a really lame reason. I chose really cool.


End file.
